Pleading & Request

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Canterlot Castle was a place of sunshine, even more so than the rolling meadows of Equestria where ponies played in the light. White and gold cascaded and reflected the light all around, caressed and brushed and turned around again by marble like a hapless stallion at a masquerade. True indoors was a rare thing in its halls — it was as much shades and promenades as rooms and hallways, four walls being a rarity when three and the day's broadside would suffice. While it possessed quarters and cellars which were necessarily closed off, even they were shot through with sunbeams from tall windows and skylights. It was built to genuflect in the glory of the day, and every one of the extensive meetings with diplomats, nobles, and the Princess was taken in the sun.

The pianissimo beat of a filly's trot on marble was not exactly a new sound to the castle. Foals often trotted through in herds on field trips from the various schools in the city and beyond, but the maids who cast from room to room in their work had to push down their natural instinct for this particular rendition, because a lone filly typically meant a lost filly, strayed from her tour group and usually already either sobbing with confusion or getting into the linens.

This filly was not crying, lost, or even alone. She was Twilight Sparkle, Princess Celestia's personal protégé, and she was accompanied by the Princess herself, whose ethereal passage made as much noise as she wished, which for the moment was none. This silence was more than made up for by the filly's enthusiastic questioning, which could be heard echoing down any adjacent hallway.

"How big is the castle, Princess?"

"Smaller than you might think, as a matter of fact," the Princess answered with her usual grace and patience. "The throne room, a couple ballrooms, a few staterooms, five meeting halls, six dining halls, and various quarters for the maids, guards, and myself... Oh, and the cellars, and the towers, and of course the hallways and staircases connecting it all..."

"It feels really big..." Twilight huffed in response.

Princess Celestia glanced down at the filly doing her best to keep up with her reduced pace. "Oh, I'm sorry, Twilight. I know it's all scaled for... well, me, not a filly. Would you like me to walk more slowly?"

"No!" yelped Twilight, a look of horror on her face. "No, Princess, I don't want to slow you down! Your legs are just so much longer than mine," she said, looking down at her stubby appendages as they carried her onwards. "When are you going to teach me to teleport?"

Again, there was silence apart from Twilight's hoofsteps.

It wouldn't do for Celestia to reject Twilight's question outright, as audacious as it seemed. From what she knew of the filly, she was very sensitive to rejection. She suspected the disaster that ended her entrance exam was partially due to the state she'd been left in after a perceived failure — to shut down any questions outright could close her student off to her. But Twilight had an analytical mind, so every answer only seemed to precede another question. Celestia minded it less than she thought she would.

Finally, Celestia looked down at the filly traipsing alongside her, meeting her expectant look. "Pardon?"

"I'm ready!" Twilight exclaimed, her enthusiasm bubbling over in a steady acceleration that Celestia had to move at quarter-speed to keep pace with. "I know the constituent stars for the safe, standardized version! I even studied the history, right down to the five-star wish originally discovered by Crowflight!"

"And what are the standard version's stars?" Celestia asked, hedging with a pop quiz.

"an-Nasl and ar-Risha!" Twilight supplied, bright-eyed. "an-Nasl links where you are and where you want to go... and then ar-Risha pulls you through!"

"And how many wishes have you practiced with each of them?" Celestia pressed, finding her angle. She could scare Twilight with the hazards of amateur teleportation (which mostly consisted of height-related hazards most pegasus fillies had already navigated by this age), but she no longer considered fear a useful teacher. It did not answer questions, only suppressed them... and led the asker to seek answers elsewhere.

Still, Twilight wilted. "None... I've felt for an-Nasl, but... it's weird," Twilight said, wrinkling her nose. "Like it's there, but also not? Or like I only have half of it. Moonbeam just skips over the feel of it and goes right to the hard stuff... But you can teach me! I'm your student, aren't I?"

"Yes, and I am your teacher," Celestia replied, meeting Twilight's eyes to push down the memory of a cyan contrast from not so long ago. "I took you on so that you may learn control, first and foremost. It is not yet time to explore new power." She shifted her gaze back ahead. "Besides, what use do you have for teleportation? Most only learn it to navigate hazardous environments, as in rescue work." Which wouldn't be suitable for Twilight at her age, regardless of how precious she'd look in a fire brigade uniform.

"Well, I won't have to walk everywhere anymore!" She stuck out a hoof, gesturing to the length of the promenade, and no doubt hinting at how much time it would save to be able to teleport from one end to the other with such a clear sightline.

That brought a few things to mind. First, it was not an 'if' but a 'when' to Twilight — what would happen if she was told she would never teleport? Worse, Twilight planned to use magic to circumvent the work of 'common ponies', which could be a symptom of indolence or, worse, egotism. Lastly, the filly before her thought herself capable of teleportation, a dyadic wish only registered by the tenth percentile of astrologists. Most unicorns typically learned it well into adulthood, save the rare few with a teleportation-related cutie mark.

Then again, given what Twilight's cutie mark was, Celestia wasn't sure she was wrong.

There were other issues. The curious filly was hard enough to keep track of already (so long as she wasn't muzzle-deep in a book), and she wasn't her responsibility alone, either. But her student wouldn't be satiated by empty promises of "later" or "when you're older." Celestia needed something concrete, a plan she could follow.

She thought of her own experience with the wish. It wasn't one she used often, for good reason: if certain clipboard-wielding ponies found out how quickly she could get from point A (Auditorium) to point B (Balcony), all her schedules would shrink like dresses in the wash. Even if little Twilight didn't like them, her constitutionals from appointment to appointment were essential to her ongoing sanity.

"Princess, wait for me!"

Celestia startled, then looked behind her to see Twilight at a distant bend in the hallway, galloping in an attempt to catch up with her. Chiding herself internally, she turned and sat on her haunches to wait. She had thought her habit of getting lost in thought and losing her forced little pony pace broken, but...

Actually, she'd certainly seen her seneschal, Sheaf, puffing around the yard with the cadets in the pre-dawn hours at least twice recently.

That memory hung alongside the hurrying filly, and she felt embarrassed once again at how the fabric of the world seemed to give beneath her, despite centuries of effort to the contrary. Even her student hurried faster rather than being reassured by her patience. She was so lost in her petty shame that she didn't even notice at first when Twilight got tangled in her hooves and pitched forward, landing on the carpet with an 'oof'.

Pulling herself up, Celestia trotted to meet her student. "Are you alright, Twilight?" she asked, leaning down so their heads were level.

Twilight was sitting on her haunches, looking down at her right foreleg with fascination. "I scraped my knee," she stated. Then, as blood welled up from the wound, tears followed from her eyes. "I sc—scraped my knee..." she repeated, voice wavering, looking up at Celestia with watery eyes. It was then, in those wide, vulnerable eyes, that she remembered when she'd first seen Twilight, before the fateful exam that nearly sundered her castle with overflowing wishes.

It had been the nine-hundred and eightieth Summer Sun Celebration, a rare occasion on which she'd held it in Canterlot rather than visiting another city. Raising the sun in front of her little ponies made her a little uncomfortable, but the look in the eyes of the purple-indigo filly in the front row struck her as different. Adoration and appreciation were par for the course, but Twilight Sparkle had looked at her with awe.

Where other ponies looked and saw their Princess raising the sun, a simple fact of nature, it felt as if Twilight saw the work of a pony. As if she could see far into the past, gazing at the adolescent blank-flank who had toiled and cried and begged with the cracked gray eggshell of the world, pleaded to heave open the gate of life and bring the dawn of the age of ponies. Somehow, that filly had known the simple fact that all others denied: Celestia had earned her cutie mark, just like anypony else.

Sniffling pulled her back into the present, back into the view of those same eyes. "I want mom..." whined the only pony who had truly seen Celestia in centuries, and so she remembered her duty.

Closing her eyes, she rolled her neck and felt for the soothing glow of al-Ruba. Finding it, she pulled and found the dull pulse of Twilight's pain. She entwined its power with al-Udhrah's, then guided it to the red wound and felt it fade. A mouthkerchief kept folded in her petral was unfolded and found its way to Twilight, wiping away the blood that remained. The filly winced instinctively at the touch, but then her eyes widened when there was no pain.

Unfettered by curiosity, Twilight's pout returned. "... Mom usually kisses it better..." she mumbled, not looking up from the carpet where her blood marred the royal yellow. Celestia smiled, reveling in the simple ways of fillies. Leaning down in obligement, she

remembered.

Adoration, praises, verse

Private chambers swathed with silks, light and voices both like dripping honey

Parades and festivals and a temple

full of golden tapestries.

Celestia! Celestia! O, Celestia!

Shining sun of all the world!

A forgotten shadow roused from her chambers, the full moon, hung high in the sky, deep blues and purples and blacks slashed across the runny pink of a miscarried dawn, all of it, pressing down like a hoof on her chest, a weight as familiar as her petral, her own sister, her only sister, traded away for empty adoration and meaningless praise—

A dark, deep forest, leagues away, where she was awaited.

She drew back, not a sudden jerk but the practiced motion of a thousand years. "I'm afraid she's not here, Twilight Sparkle. Can you walk?"

Twilight looked down, sniffed once more, then gathered herself. "... Yes, Princess." Yes, that was how it should be. Princess and subject. Mentor and student. Any closer, and...

They continued down the hallway toward the pavilion, accompanied by birdsong and sunshine. Celestia decided that, today, honesty was the best policy. "Is it so bad, Twilight Sparkle, to spend a little time getting somewhere?" To stall a while, to tarry in a moment? To delay the inevitable?

"Yes!" she whined. "I could still be in the library, reading, or in the tower! Reading!"

Celestia gazed out the window to hide her little smile. "Not everything can be learned in books, my student."

"Well, why don't they just write that stuff down?" Twilight grumbled in response.

"Not everything can be written down. Poetry, for example, is an attempt to fit feelings to the page, but poets are always straining against the limits of language."

Her ears pressed down, as if she wanted to block out the mere idea of artistry. "That's feelings, though."

"Your mother, Twilight Velvet. She loves you very much, doesn't she?" Celestia had certainly heard the mare gush enough about her daughter to know she wasn't misstepping.

"Bunches and bunches," Twilight said, striking a proud pose. It quickly fell apart into confusion. "... But why's that matter?"

"Do you know that to be true because she said so? Or do you feel it?"

"... The second one. 'Mom loves me' isn't an ax—... an axis."

"Axiom," Celestia supplied.

"An axiom. It's a... theory, based on a lot of little things. Like she tucks me in. And cuts my toast into guards so I can dip it."

"Then when she tells you she loves you, do you trot through all the evidence in your head? Or do you just... feel it?"

"I guess I... If I just read that she loved me, it wouldn't be the same..." Twilight mumbled.

"And here we are," Celestia announced as they arrived at the door to the tower where they took their lessons. Twilight practically bounced out of her moroseness, bounding into the large room. As always, she spun in a circle with a clatter of hooves, taking in all the bookshelves piled right to the tower's distant apex, excitement plain on her face just as it was the first time she'd entered.

Celestia paused at the threshold. Twilight reacted so well to honesty — the filly had already developed a distaste for the intricacies and deceptions of social interaction, especially in Canterlotian society. Once again, Celestia put off breaking the news that her student would have to learn them. "Twilight, I enjoy our walks."

"... Really?" Twilight asked, tearing her gaze away from the books to look at Celestia.

"Absolutely."

Twilight stared at her for a few more moments, then turned back to the shelves. Just when Celestia was about to retrieve the wooden blocks they used for sway practice, Twilight spoke up: "... I... guess I can wait a little longer to learn to teleport. If it's for you, Princess."

Celestia smiled down at her student. "Thank you, Twilight. Waiting is an excellent skill to learn." She shifted her gaze from the blocks to the books that caught Twilight's eye. "Before we get into the day's exercises with sway... Perhaps we can do a little reading, hm?"

The resulting squeal of delight bounced off the high walls, knocking a patrolling pegasus off-course.

Twilight Sparkle's home filled Celestia with a certain longing. She'd often take meetings with citizens like this, visiting them in their own homes rather than inviting them into the inevitably-intimidating castle. Receiving a Princess was an honor, and inviting her into their homes left them feeling gracious and open. The experience on her part, however, varied: she'd lost count of the number of vacuous manors she'd taken tea in, in rooms that felt like they had been built for the occasion and would be demolished soon afterwards.

This kitchen was nothing like that. By the sink, a few dishes lay in a drying rack, in no hurry on their journey to the cabinets. Above those, a broad window looked out on a cozy garden fenced off from the street by rose bushes. A large oak kept it pleasantly shaded in the summer sun. Inside, memorabilia were scattered across the walls: newspapers with Twilight's stories and awards Night Light had received, some of them personally bestowed by Celestia. A small stack of papers sat on the floor beside the table, the top one showing a drawing of Celestia's own cutie mark in crayon.

Around the table sat Celestia, Twilight Velvet, and Night Light. Twilight had had the forethought to furnish Celestia with an appropriately-sized cushion, and the two parents each sat on their own, forehooves propped on the table. A pot of tea and three cups were arrayed atop it as well, and Twilight was pouring tea. In the other room, Twilight Sparkle was eating sandwiches with her brother, Shining Armor. As always with Twilight, 'eating sandwiches' wasn't quite an accurate summary of her actual activity, which was reading with a side of eating.

"Twilight is an exceptional student," Celestia said. "Her voraciousness in learning is enviable, her veraciousness in character admirable." Twilight Velvet and Night Light were two ponies one didn't have to mince vocabulary around; Twilight the younger was exactly the product she'd expect from a union of journalist and scholar. Unfortunately, she'd also inherited her mother's bluntness and her father's reclusiveness. "But I wonder about her friendships."

"I'm sure there's nothing to be worried about, Celestia," Night Light said.

"That's the issue," Celestia said, turning to the azure stallion. "She has no friendships to worry about."

His gaze slid away from hers. "Well, as you know, Twilight is... asocial, like us—"

"Antisocial is the word, Night Light," Celestia said, cutting him off with a curtness only reserved for those close to her. "And yes, she's certainly inherited that trait."

It was a familiar argument — their words, oft repeated, fit comfortably into the grooves they'd dug. As with any time-worn thing, whether it be a bedraggled doll, a tooth-worn tool, or her own self, she couldn't help her fondness for it.

And it wasn't as if Celestia was wrong. She'd worked with Night Light for two decades as he'd risen through the ranks of the Astronomer's Guild, and only learned in Twilight's entrance exam that he had not only a wife, but two foals as well. He wasn't a furtive pony, but he certainly wasn't a forthcoming one, either. Even his wife, who was naturally the more assertive of the two, kept her social circle small with the discerning quality-over-quantity approach of an accomplished journalist.

It made her worry for their daughter and her future. What lessons could she teach the filly, beyond the magic she was so desperate to learn? What twists and turns would she have to be guided away from? Which obstacles would she need help getting over, and which would be best to let her tackle alone? Perhaps Cadence...

Three centuries ago, her seneschal Scintillation had suggested bonsai as a hobby. Celestia found it a little fast-paced for her liking.

Twilight's... asociality had been a problem she'd suspected since meeting the filly. She'd confirmed it many times since, and had circled around the subject often in her monthly progress meetings with her parents. She'd tackled it head-on several times, delicately at first, but each time was met with the same defenses. Twilight Velvet insisted that there was no forcing friendship and that some fillies, herself included, were mares before they found their peers. Night Light hemmed and hawed and, in the end, said that she wasn't unhappy, so there wasn't a problem.

This time, however, she seemed to get through to him. Unable to stand the sight of his drooping ears, she brushed a primary under his chin, raising his gaze to meet hers. "You should come for dinner at the castle soon. I hardly see you since your promotion, I can count in one round the times I've seen your wife, and I only learned you have a son because I check the enrolment registry for the cadets every now and again."

Night Light smiled. "Sorry, Princess. I'm getting older — ever since we had Shining and then Sparkle, the years just blow by."

"Yes, I can relate to that, at least." Nine hundred and eighty-five. "But connecting with others keeps us in the present, neither slipping into the future nor being dragged back into the past. That's precisely what I want for Twilight Sparkle."

Night Light drooped even more. "I'm... I didn't think we were raising her that badly, or... robbing her of a happy life."

Retracing her conversational steps, Celestia realized just what she'd done: she'd forced both ponies into a position of contrition before asking them a favor. She silently cursed herself and prepared a retreat. "No, Night Light, I am sorry. Your social proclivities are your business. If it wasn't so incompatible with my station, I would likely take my own sojourns away from ponies at times. Twilight is young and very focused, she'll surely start to be curious about other ponies soon."

Night Light perked up, but Twilight remained stoic and watchful, her eyes not leaving Celestia, her mouth hidden behind the rim of her teacup.

"I digress," Celestia said. "I came here today to discuss her magical curriculum, not her social one."

"Please can I learn to teleport?!"

All three adults turned to look at the door to the living room. The filly in question was practically vibrating with energy, to the point Celestia found herself wondering what Twilight Velvet put in her sandwiches.

"Shining? Did Twilight eat her sandwich?" Twilight Velvet called, leaning over to look into the other room.

"Please can I learn to teleport?"Twilight asked again, recommencing the campaign that began a premature lunch.

"Yes ma'am! I mean, yes mom!" came their son's voice from the other room, half-muffled by sandwich. Celestia realized that the young colt was hiding from her. She would have to check in on the guard school and make sure they weren't printing intimidating posters of her likeness again. More likely, they just selected for a certain amount of admiration.

"I'm thinking of an advancement in Twilight's curriculum," Celestia said, turning to Twilight Velvet. "While her sway exercises have been and will be instrument in her development, we risk understimulation. Conjugate wishes will help her understand not just the stars themselves, but the relationships between them. It's a complex wish, and I admit it's a little early for her to—"

"If it's so early, why are you even thinking of teaching it to our daughter?" Twilight Velvet interrupted, her teacup clinking against her saucer.

Simultaneously, the little voice they'd both tuned out came back into focus as it stepped up another octave. "Please can I learn to teleport? Please can I learn to teleport? Please can I learn to teleport?"

Celestia smiled tiredly. "As a teacher, it is my duty to indulge my student's curiosity." Seeing the steel in Twilight Velvet's eyes, she added, "And as her ward, it is my duty to ensure my charge's safety. I fear that without guidance, she will simply teach herself, which would be far more dangerous."

"You imagine that our daughter, a filly of twelve, could teach herself teleportation?" Twilight Velvet asked, skeptical.

Celestia and Night Light looked at each other, then back at her.

"Twilight Velvet," Celestia began, "as you know, many unicorns go their entire life making only the simplest wishes. Even here in Canterlot, most only know one or two conjugate wishes, typically dyads consisting of two stars used together, most often involving that unicorn's patron star. Teleportation is one such dyad. Even the most advanced wishes known to our astrologists only involve five parts." She looked down at her teacup, swirling around the single mouthful of tea left.

Celestia looked Twilight Velvet in the eye. "On the day she earned her mark, your daughter made, among others, a twelve-part wish. One whose mechanics my scholars still do not fully understand a year after the fact."

Celestia was glad that Twilight the younger was too preoccupied to see her mother's face as the mask of concern cracked and revealed the fear hidden beneath — fear she suspected had been lurking there ever since her brief stint as agave tequilana. "Night Light, could you take Twilight out in the garden?" Twilight Velvet asked, her voice only trembling a little.

Night Light, to his credit, did so immediately, gently but insistently nudging the still-needling younger Twilight until her scholastic requests were cut off by the closing door.

The two mares, one mother and one Princess, were left in silence. Celestia let it steep until finally, Twilight Velvet lifted her chin to meet her gaze. "... No."

"... Pardon?"

"No, you may not teach my daughter to teleport," Velvet repeated, and the slight tremor in her hinds gave Celestia an inkling as to why.

She placed her teacup on its saucer without a sound. "May I ask why not?"

"... Because she's only a filly," the not-yet Bearer of Magic's mother murmured, eyes cast down again. "You are responsible for all of us, of course, and I'm grateful, but... Twilight is special." Her voice cracked, hinting at the intensity of the emotions beneath. "I know that to her this has been the greatest year of her life. But, to us..." She trailed off, focus drifting toward the window above the kitchen sink.

Outside, her husband was boosting their scrabbling daughter up the grand oak tree in their backyard, one she'd surely climbed at least a hundred times. A well-loved and oft-repaired swing hung from one branch, swaying in the breeze as if remembering all the times her son must have pushed Twilight in it, higher and higher. She forced her gaze back down to the grain of the dining table. "Was there ever a time you weren't meant for great things, Princess?"

Celestia thought back to the roiling chaos of the world she'd been born into. She remembered the stories of her sister being born: how she had been so silent that they only knew she was alive by her flowing tears, and herself: how she had raised her head to the stars like she could pull them down. She thought of how her parents had held them both close, knowing they were the last of their kind, lucky enough to be conceived moments before the second sundering, years after that of earth, years before that of sky.

After them, across the city, was the first pegasus. She could learn neither the dances nor the wishes of her parents, and they wept, for her and for themselves. Shortly, they were not alone in their mourning.

"... No. I don't believe there ever was."

Twilight Velvet sighed. "I'm in denial, I suppose. My little Sparkle must be the same way. Last time we hired a foalsitter, we came home to him bored out of his mind and her sitting in exactly the same place we left her, still reading. I just..." She trailed off.

Celestia gave her an encouraging smile. "You've raised a wonderful daughter, Twilight Velvet. I cannot speak for Harmony's design, but I have faith she'll do great things."

"That's just it." A quiet releasing of breath. "I can't really say no, can I? It's like trying to sway the sun. As you said, even if you didn't teach her, she'd teach herself." She took another sip of tea. "... She's such an incredible learner. But... Around the time I had Shining, my mother told me that mothers need to be needed, maybe more than their fillies need them." She looked down, eyes hidden behind her bangs. "It's like she's already outgrown me."

Celestia raised a hoof and placed it on Twilight Velvet's shoulder, careful to keep her actual weight off the much smaller pony. "She still needs you. While she is a prodigy in magic, she's still only a filly in every other respect. She needs love as much as any other, and there's nopony who can provide it better than her family."

Velvet's eyes flicked downward and her mouth pressed into a neutral line. Celestia recognized it as the expression of a pony making a concentrated effort to contain something ugly inside herself. "You're right, Princess. Thank you." Twilight Velvet was looking out the window again, her expression controlled. "She really does adore you, you know."

Celestia followed Twilight's gaze and saw her daughter there, framed by the oak's boughs, high enough to worry if Night Light wasn't standing diligently below. She was looking directly back with wide eyes, caught. Celestia gave her a smile, as she always did when she caught her student staring, and Twilight glanced away with embarrassment showing on her cheeks.

The Princess allowed a possible future to trot through her mind. Twilight Sparkle would come in from the garden, full of hope, only to be met with her mentor's refusal. The only world she cared for would be closed off to her for reasons beyond her understanding, leaving her only with dull concentration exercises that inspired nothing. It would grant a few years in her mother's embrace, one she would inevitably squirm out of, filled with resentment. And then...

She shook her head. The despair that had pooled in the impression left by her previous student's departure was still soaked into her mind, but the arrival of Twilight had thrown open the windows. Everything was starting to air out. In the new light, the desperation of her previous plan had struck her. Now, she knew she couldn't afford to lose this new opportunity as she had the last.

The oak's strong branches and the way they supported Twilight brought to mind a little library in Ponyville. She leaned down, across the table, closer to Twilight the elder. "She still needs you, Twilight Velvet. I may be a Princess, but you are her mother. Even after all this time, I miss my own dearly." Twilight Velvet's eyes widened at the concept. "You are irreplaceable."

She sniffled, then nodded. Celestia knew her well enough to tamp down on her desire to walk around the table and embrace her; unlike her daughter, she didn't seem to thrive on external validation. Or, perhaps, like her daughter, she didn't accept validation she didn't feel she'd earned. So, instead, she poured herself another cup of tea, topping up Twilight's cup as well. They sat there, enjoying the aroma for a moment, until the younger mare broke the silence. "You can teach her. Whatever she needs or wants. I trust you."

Celestia frowned, pulling it down like a blind over her relief. "Twilight, I did not come here to coerce you."

Twilight Velvet just blew on her tea, then took a sip. "I know you didn't, and you haven't. I really mean it, Princess. I trust you. You're the steward of the sun, the moon, and Equestria. But more importantly, you're Twilight's... I don't even have a word for it. Not even she does." Velvet glanced at Celestia, watching her out of the corner of one eye. "And I know she's important to you as well... even if I don't yet know entirely why.

"But you didn't ask to advance her curriculum due to her potential. It was because you saw that she wanted to learn, and knew you should involve us in that process. You care about her. You don't just want to foster her power — you want to nurture her passion. How can I possibly deny that? Besides," she chuckled, "have you tried saying no to her before? I think even you would have trouble, Princess."

"I'm sure I would," Celestia replied with a smile. "Thank you, Twilight. I'm sure your daughter will be overjoyed to hear this."

"'Over' is right," Velvet replied with a fond eyeroll. "I swear, she's springy as a deer when she gets excited, and she always does when it comes to astrology. Perhaps we'll get lucky and she'll be as natural a talent in etiquette as she is in magic."

Celestia laughed. "I certainly hope not. It's been a long time since I had a student so young, and so many entrants in my school are taught shame for their youth... The castle staff is already growing fond of her." She sipped her tea. "Speaking of staff, I'd like to recommend a foalsitter that may be able to budge her from her reading spot..."

Parable & Sleepover

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Though it was known abroad as the Palace of Sunlight, Canterlot Castle heaped praises on the night just as readily as the day. When the sun set, casting Equestria in its last brilliant wash of color, when the sky bruised and faded to black, night crept in like a lover to a rendezvous.

She guided the heads of the staff as they used their polewicks to light the high sconces in the hallways. She ushered some ponies to bed even as she roused her slit-eyed faithful with a bell of silver light. Then, she began to conduct her symphony: crickets in the garden took to their bows, nightjars called each to each, and the comings and goings of staff on the marble formed a quiet percussion below it all.

The night's warden watched the night-time self of the town below the castle stir in its eventide sheets, first in the lighting of the lanterns all along the paths, then in earnest as lights flickered on in windows, ponies settling in for a night of study or preparing for a night out, carousing or patrolling or simply living.

Finally, Celestia raised her head to watch the moon for a time. With the gate fully open and all its light spilling through, the mark of the Mare in the Moon was plainly visible. She wondered, as she often did, how it was Luna. Was she sleeping, and did she dream? And, if she dreamed, did the Nightmare torment her as it did Celestia? Would the millennium be as a blink to her sister, or did each year weigh heavy as it did on her? Was there even anything left of Luna, or had her soul been torn to shreds, or fled to the sea from which none could return?

In silhouette, she could not say whether the form across the moon-gate was her dear sister or her dread foe.

The moon had departed from the horizon fully. By now, Sheaf would usually have pulled her from her musings to remind her of her next appointment, and she would be glad to leave the Sunset Balcony. But as she walked back into the castle, her seneschal was nowhere to be found. Sheaf made up for his starchiness with a firm adherence to schedule, so most likely she had asked him not to attend her and had simply forgotten. But why?..

It hit her like a crop to the flank and she was off, quickly schooling a gallop to a near-canter. Twilight Sparkle. For whatever reason, Sheaf's presence made her clam up entirely, so Celestia had asked that he not attend their lessons. And had assured him, of course, that she wasn't some old nag who would forget one appointment in her evening. She worried at her lower lip in a minor show of self-chastisement as the door to the apprentice's apartments approached.

The door was open, with Downdraft posted to one side and Virga to the other. Downdraft was peering inward, but a nudge from her partner brought her to attention at one side, her armor barely clinking. The movement revealed Twilight Sparkle, back to the door, deep in focus at one of her exercises: above her, two wooden blocks were suspended in her pinkish aura.

Her task was, on its surface, simple: use sway to hold one wooden block stationary while moving another. The loads were light and small, the sort that fillies typically trained with, but focusing a wish on two objects instead of just one required exponentially more concentration. Many unicorns never had cause to do so, but it was necessary for many of the more advanced conjugate wishes. To see her student already coming to grips with the task was more than encouraging, especially with how far she had come.

When Celestia first took Twilight on, the filly's sway control was weak for one at her age. She was goal oriented to a fault: when she had enough control to move a book's page, she had immediately moved on to studying other stars. It had taken a mentor's guidance to pull her back to sway and familiarize her with al-Kawkab, starting with larger objects and recently expanding to multiple. Deepening one's relationship with a single star was a good way to begin learning the intricacies of astral magic, improving focus and control, aspects Twilight sorely lacked. The breadth of Twilight's study thus far was impressive, the depth sorely lacking.

The average unicorn began to develop the depth she lacked once as she earned her cutie mark and found her patron star. Twilight Sparkle, however, had no patron. A pediatrician had explored this first, and Celestia had confirmed it herself with the visual ley test: no star in the sky shone brighter than any other for the filly, indicating an attunement to the ley that flowed from it and thus the wishes it granted.

A full revolution round the astralidade and a confession in the timid tone Twilight took when she feared disappointing somepony had instead privately elated Celestia, since it was a confirmation that Twilight wasn't one of the rare unicorns with a dark star for a patron.

For days, Twilight had despaired. She would not have a special relationship with a star as other fillies did, one whose magic would come to her as naturally as breathing. But, as Celestia had assured her at the time, there were many accomplished practitioners of astral magic who had no patron star of their own. A patron was only a headstart. Talent was no match for skill and dedication, after all.

But Celestia had a suspicion of her own, one she didn't speak for fear of tipping the scale. It came to mind whenever Twilight learned the feeling of a new star, each one coming so naturally, like it was her special talent. Because when Twilight stared into the sky, her eyes watered, as if the sprawling tapestry of ley was too bright to take.

As if heaven entire was Twilight's patron, and all the stars within it were calling her.

Quietly, Celestia trod into the chamber, eyes fixed on Twilight's display. She walked until she was to Twilight's right and a little behind, then sat and waited. Twilight was just as enamored with her work as her mentor; the filly's eyes were wide and sparkling, reflecting pink light from the suspended blocks. Slowly, to get her attention without pulling it entirely away from her work, Celestia raised a wing and brushed her primaries against Twilight's side.

"Princess!" Twilight turned, alight with excitement, and the blocks clattered to the ground. She swiveled back to them immediately as her expression followed them, falling into dismay. With some effort, the first block rose, but the second only had a weak light surround it before the first fell again. Twilight huffed and tried again, but this time neither rose. She stamped a little hoof. "I really had it, Princess, I promise, I just—"

Celestia pulled her wing in, cutting her student off as she was dragged into an embrace. She found she had to take a moment to steady her voice. "I saw, Twilight. It was very impressive. You're certainly improving."

"... You're late, Princess," came a voice from her side, the tone obviously trying to be displeased. Twilight did a poor job of hiding the comfort in her voice, a mirror of the warmth of her teacher's embrace.

But still, she was right to be upset. "I am. I apologize, Twilight."

"... It's okay. I'm getting better at waiting."

Celestia smiled. "Well, let's see that patience rewarded. Since you've obviously been keeping up with your exercises in sway, why don't we do some studying?"

Twilight shot like a bolt from beneath Celestia's wing at that word, clambering with surprising agility up one of the stacks of books that lately littered the floor. "This one, this one!" she yelped with glee, hopping in place before realizing she was treading on a book and immediately jumping down. Celestia smiled, keeping to herself the comparison her mind drew between her student's enthusiasm and a filly asking for her favorite bedtime story.

She lifted the tome, Folding Space: Secrets of an-Nasl, into the air with a glow of gold. "Of course. This is a good choice, Twilight — you've already made your first wish with ar-Risha, so independent study of an-Nasl will help you start to bridge them together." Twilight practically matched Celestia's magic with the glow she exuded under praise. "Have you read ahead?" An enthusiastic nod. "Can you recite Asterism's Parable of Dislocation, then?"

Twilight's smile vanished. "Yes, but..." She scuffed the carpet with a hoof. "I don't really get it."

"That's perfectly understandable. The workings of an-Nasl are rather esoteric compared to others."

"Esoteric?" Twilight prompted with a tilt of her head. The way she copied Celestia's pronunciation left the word feeling jarringly regal in her mouth.

"Specialized, theoretical, obscure, or abstract. Likely to be understood by a select few," Celestia supplied automatically.

"Esoteric...." she mumbled, tasting the word. Then, a moment of silence as she swallowed it, sending it to her mind for digestion and leaving her hunger for vocabulary entirely unsated.

Celestia placed a hoof on Folding Space. "Some stars, like al-Kawkab, lend themselves well to our way of navigating the world, physically or mentally. Others require us to change the way we think. While the magic of earth ponies and pegasi has until recently been passed down entirely through oral tradition, the workings of astral ley have long been written, going back as far as Clover the Clever. These are the parables astrologists covet, and the ones you study now."

"Well, I got Confluence's retrieval one... I think it just meant that ar-Risha is like a rope, so the tricky part of pulling something is making sure the rope is taut... Is that what an-Nasl does? Tauten the space between you and where you want to go?" Twilight asked, her pitch rising with excitement.

There were things Twilight still didn't understand about that particular parable, but that was only natural. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Twilight," she admonished gently. "Remember, there is no true understanding of the whole without at least cursory knowledge of the parts. Why don't we work through Asterism's parable together, starting with your memory of it?"

"Okay! Well," Twilight started, sitting down on one of the cushions scattered around the floor, "one day, a mare is walking in the woods and sees a river. She's curious what's on the other side, so she walks up to the bank. First, she looks at the opposite bank. Then, she looks at the river. Then, she looks at the bank under her own hooves." Twilight's expression soured. "Then, she turns around and leaves! She never makes it to the other side at all!"

Celestia arched an eyebrow. "Am I mistaken, Twilight, and this is in fact a Parable of Teleportation?"

Twilight blushed heavily. "No, Princess," she mumbled.

"Let's put movement aside for now. For these more advanced parables, Twilight, how things are described is often more important than what happens. They teach us a new way of looking at the world, if we listen without our own goals clouding our vision." Celestia opened the book, flipping through it to the beginning of the parable, then flipped a few pages forward. "Could you read this passage for me?" she asked, highlighting the words with a quick flicker of magic as she nudged the book toward her student.

"And so," Twilight began obediently, "the mare saw that the other bank was edged with grass, and the one she stood on was as well. That one gave way to dirt and then to the river, as did this one. That one was shaded by the trees above, as was this one. The only difference, as far as she could see, was that she was standing on this one, and not on that one. And, in the end, that was as minor a difference as the arrangement of the pebbles."

Celestia nodded. "And so, she sees that two places are in fact one."

"But they're different!" Twilight cried.

"But some things about them are the same. The loyal pair of guards standing outside are different in some ways, but the same in others. Just as you can say they're different for their differences, despite their samenesses, you can say they're the same, despite their differences. It's a matter of how you think about it."

"That just sounds like lying," Twilight huffed. "And even if it's not, the mare in the story is so... so... uncurious!"

"Incurious. You do not have to agree with all the viewpoints you'll learn as a scholar of the astral ley, Twilight, only understand them."

"I don't understand how somepony could be happy with that..." she grumbled. "Besides, even if it works, isn't it confusing?"

Celestia tapped a hoof on the forgotten book. "That feeling of disorientation is precisely what this parable is attempting to communicate. an-Nasl is about being where you are and where you aren't at the same time." Twilight was looking increasingly queasy. "Identifying similarities is one way to tap into an-Nasl and link disparate things. Think of how you tell apart two places, and then invert that.

"Of course," she continued, "the most natural way to compare two things is visually, so most astrologists are limited by sightlines. There are ways around this limitation, but we'll focus on visual teleportation first." She didn't add how much more manageable Twilight would be if she couldn't teleport where she couldn't see. "All you need to do is see that one riverbank is much like the other, as Asterism did."

"I don't like it," Twilight announced loudly.

"Ah well," Celestia said with a shrug, hiding a smile. She closed the book, ignoring the way Twilight's mouth formed an indignant 'o', then tweaked her horn to pull over the wooden blocks that lay forgotten on the carpet. "I suppose we can strike teleportation from your curriculum."

"I— I'm sorry, Princess! I don't mind it! Please don't—"

"Hush, Twilight," Celestia said, placing the book back on its pile. "I'm only teasing. But our session nears its end."

Twilight pouted, an accusatory look in her eyes. "I don't like being teased. Bullies tease."

"... Ah," said Celestia. "I'm sorry, Twilight. But it's natural that these parables take time to digest. Even if you don't concentrate on it, your mind will work on breaking it down in the background. That's why it's important to eat well and rest well. One cannot study all the time."

Twilight was wearing an expression Celestia rarely had the chance to see: that of a filly who believes herself to be in possession of a trump card. "You were late."

... Touché. "I was, and I apologize." White lie?.. No. "I was distracted. But you'll see me again the day after tomorrow."

"But that's so far away!"

It was easy to forget, but where two days for Celestia was a sliver of time, for Twilight it was a slice, just as one step for Celestia was six for the filly. So how could she say no to forfeiting a sliver of a sliver? "... Downdraft?" she called.

"Yes, Princess?" asked the pegasus guard, peering into the room.

"Would you go find Sheaf and tell him I'll be twelve minutes late? And send somepony to let Twilight's parents know of the delay." Celestia didn't typically take meetings after sundown, and the slot was actually time set aside for her to attend to some paperwork, but her tardiness would still affect things. She turned to her student and smiled. "Ten more minutes, then."

"Thank you!" Twilight yelled, galloping a quick circle around Celestia in her excitement, then bolting to the balcony.

Celestia followed her, curious. "You don't want to read more?"

"Oh, um... I can read anytime," she said, though Celestia caught the way her eyes flicked longingly toward the inside of the tower, "but I only get an hour with you! And only every other day!" Her eyes returned to her mentor, tracking up from her hooves to her chest to her face, three heights above hers.

"I'm flattered," Celestia laughed, "that you'd choose me over your books." Her own gaze left Twilight and turned to the night sky. They were on the lee side of the moonlight, so only stars occupied that space above them, stars and the intricate web of astral ley that flowed between them. "Was there something you wanted to discuss?"

Twilight shuffled a little closer. Celestia remembered how she had instinctually enclosed her in a wing earlier, had done so several times since she resolved to keep her distance. She dimly observed that her wing was already resting around Twilight and kept her gaze trained upward.

"... Are the stars alive, Princess?"

It was the kind of question Celestia treasured from Twilight, the kind that showed her fervor for learning could reach out to others in time. "Not like you or I. They have neither friends nor family nor favorite foods. But each one has a perfect world it desires, and wishing on them lets a little of that world into ours.

"Al-Kawkab wants a world where everything floats as if underwater. an-Nasl wants a world where nothing is distinct, everything diminished to a single point." Celestia looked down at Twilight, who was gazing up at her like she was a star herself. "And, like medicine, too much of any of their desires is dangerous. That is why you must be very careful when you heed their requests. Our world is a balance between all of theirs." Perhaps it is even a wish formed from all of them combined, she mused, an idea she'd heard whispers of for as long as she was alive.

Twilight nodded enthusiastically, then looked up at the stars again, absorbed in her own private world. Celestia saw her weave a little, her horn lightly strumming the strings of the astral ley. She joined her, closing her eyes and just feeling the sprawling network of ley beyond the firmament. It was at once relaxing and invigorating, like stretching a forgotten muscle.

Surely. Surely, this impossible filly, who learned stars as fast and as naturally as most foals her age made friends, who was already learning how to weave them together, surely she could see her Princess as a pony like any other. Without looking, Celestia looped her aura through the straps on her petral hidden beneath her mane and let it float to the floor.

Twilight looked up at the soft sound the metal made on stone. "... Princess?" she asked, a lost note in her voice, like she didn't recognize who she was looking at, all for the lack of one piece of ceremonial barding. Celestia felt the cool breeze of night against her bare chest.

"Just relaxing a little, Twilight," Celestia said, smiling in what she hoped was a comforting way. "My barding weighs on me after a long day." Who was she, seeking approval or acknowledgement from a foal? But at the same time she wondered: had centuries in this new role of Princess insulated her from other ponies as assuredly as her old title? Had anything truly changed?

Twilight looked away, violet eyes (so much like her own, so curious, so cautious, searching out praise and shying away from condemnation) fixed on the abandoned petral. "Okay, Princess," she said, raising that word like a ward.

Sunset Shimmer had to be reminded to call her that in front of supplicants. She had never had an ounce of admiration for Celestia's position, only for what she could do and what she knew. Why was Twilight different, when Celestia had thought she understood? She hadn't asked her outright, not wanting to force the issue with such a young pony, but... Maybe it was for the best. Sunset always had issues with authority, and it got her into trouble often, sometimes with Celestia herself. She winced as memories of scoldings she'd delivered flowed through her mind, Sunset's eyes growing duller and harder with each one.

Celestia withdrew her gilded watch from within her discarded peytral and examined it. "I'm afraid it's time, Twilight. Downdraft will escort you home." She wasn't surprised to catch the filly staring covetously at the watch, which made sense, symbol that it was of maturity and responsibility. Night Light would likely give her the Canterlotian coming-of-age gift earlier than most, unrestrained by the fears of Twilight Velvet as he was. And then, Celestia would really be in trouble when she ran late.

The river of Asterism's parable continued babbling through Celestia's mind in the following month, even after its meaning sunk in enough for Twilight to apply the star's potential. As Twilight toiled through the intensely abstract exercises of an-Nasl alone (because, really, the only interesting things you could do when fooling the world into thinking two spaces were one were achieved in the ensuing separation of those spaces), Celestia thought about her past. Unlike her young student, Celestia had forded many a river, and she had often found the other bank to be just the same.

The first time Twilight had teleported across the room (between two podiums carefully manufactured to be near-identical), Celestia's applause had practically been a stampede. But rather than satisfying Twilight, praise only seemed to drive her further. It wasn't long before she was practicing teleportation in the hedge maze, then across substrate gradients, even jumping from flagstone to dirt and low to high.

But while Twilight had moved past the parable of the river, Celestia found her mind mired in the mud of those twin banks.

As her position of Princess had solidified over the centuries, she'd slid from a distant wisdom to a near authority. Once, only her advice was sought, and she held court in glades whose only resemblance to a cathedral was the arching sylvan roof. In those days, she'd felt like a sunbeam: illuminating and blissfully momentary. Now, the institutions of Canterlot had arrayed themselves around her, and she had to set up delegations like irrigation channels to avoid being drowned in authority.

A century ago, a signet had been cast in the image of her mark, and four seneschals later they were still trying to convince her to wear it on her pony, if not as a horn ring then at least as a necklace. The ceremony of petitioner presentation was getting more and more elaborate, and she'd had to explicitly introduce laws against bribery just to stem the tide of gifts. And none of this even touched on the Mendicant Nations. Court, supplicants, jewelry — so many little points of similarity, separated by her time in the glades.

Her wings twitched. It really had been too long since she had considered Asterism's parable. A long and dull meeting with the Cabinet was the perfect time to meditate on it. The ponies around her were discussing policy, specifically the fifth iteration of the same discussion on the logistical nightmare that had been the recent controlled burns in Hayseed Forest. It had gone well, but the time it had taken to coordinate that many accomplished dancers to manage such a wide area had put quite the strain on the Wonderbolts as a division worked to manage the rising temperatures.

She had fought hard for the privilege to be on the front line with the earth pony brigade, guiding the fire through the woods with rhythmic, ancient steps. Celestia masked the smile that found its way to her face with a nod of approval as Rainshadow, the Cloudsdale ambassador, finished outlining her plans to make the Wonderbolts more able to cover long-term assignments.

"Auntie!" Princess Mi Amore Cadenza burst into the room, feathers mussed and coat near-lather. Not exactly the first impression she was planning for her to make on the Cabinet.

"Cadenza?" Celestia glanced around at the gathered dignitaries. "These meetings are still a little... advanced for you."

Ignoring the mild rebuke, Cadenza rushed up to her side, dancing on her hooftips. Celestia inclined her head slightly. "Twilight's missing!" the younger Princess hissed in her ear.

"Calm, Mi Amore," Celestia said softly, her mind already whirring like delicate clockwork. "Remember to breathe."

Cadenza quit huffing and instead took deep breaths, her eyes closed as her chest swelled in and out like the tide, wind-whipped waves subsiding for now.

"Good. Now, tell me what happened." Celestia's voice was quiet but urgent as she mentally reviewed security meetings, paging through remembered movements of the Nightmare's vague and ever-shifting apparatus.

"I went to pick up Twilight and her teacher said she disappeared! They've been searching the school for her, thinking she cast an invisibility spell, but I think she might've teleported!" The young alicorn's breath had fragmented into huffs again.

"Slate?" Celestia asked with a raised voice, ignoring the pointed stares of the gathered officials. They could read in her manner that this wasn't exactly the type of national emergency that merited an interruption of the Cabinet. Celestia hoped they were right.

The guard in question, an earth pony with coat, build, and expression all matching her namesake, appeared at the door. "Yes, Highness?"

"Please fetch a pair of guards from the barracks. Princess Cadenza will join you shortly at Twilight Sparkle's classroom to direct a survey of all likely exit points by sightline which could be reached with basic teleportation," she said, subtly supporting Cadenza's theory and lending her niece some of her own authority for the work ahead.

"Yes, Highness!" Slate responded with a quick bow, then trotted smartly from the room.

"Thank you for informing me, Mi Amore, but this is likely nothing to be worried about," Celestia said, half to Cadenza and half to the Cabinet. "Twilight is easily overwhelmed in group situations. I'm sure she's just hiding somewhere. Please, find her and help her calm down."

Cadenza nodded jerkily. "Yes, Auntie." Her eyes darted to the assembled Cabinet, recognizing the meeting she was interrupting for the first time. "Er... I will... shall be... taking my leave, now. Princess."

Celestia brushed her with a wing before she could turn. "You did the right thing by coming to me, Cadenza. Have a messenger sent when you've confirmed my student's safety."

With that, the Princess of Love turned and trotted quickly from the room. Celestia turned back to address the Cabinet. "Apologies for the interruption, dams. Let us carry on. Secretary Jumble?" The pegasus in question was the exceedingly competent Secretary of Finances, and a constant reminder to Celestia to brainstorm legislation to keep ponies from naming their foals such unfortunate things.

When she'd first found Mi Amore Cadenza, she was struck by her name — 'my heartbeat'. It spoke either of utmost love or utter dependence. She'd grown so much since then. The filly that had slipped through the castle's halls like carpet was growing into a mare who strode with purpose and confidence. But her loving nature had always shone through, even back when she was too young to be exposed to any machinery of governance more complex than a lever. It was fortunate then that Celestia, final authority on all things, served exactly that purpose in Equestria.

She was rarely one to practice that authority, but the nominative issues were approaching exception. More pressing than poor Jumble was the triplicate temptation burgeoning among the nobles. Another sour taste of Prance, despite her attempts to tamp down her 'nephew', Sang Bleu Ciel. Often, she wondered whether shoring up the crumbling Prench monarchy was really worth the trouble. If the trend took root, court would have to be extended by an hour just to make room for the announcements of Lights Camera Action and Crystalline Endless Ripples and Gild The Lily. And then they'd be onto four and five, until every pony's name was a language unto itself.

Unfortunately, the thought of those projects did little to distract her from her true concern. The idea of Equestria's sole sovereign joining in on the search for a lost filly was ridiculous. It showed clear favoritism, not to mention a lack of faith in the abilities of the Royal Guard. Celestia continued repeating this to herself in her mind as she stared through Secretary Jumble.

The Guard was searching direct eyelines because Twilight had only accomplished basic teleportation, which required a clear line of sight. She could manage successive jumps, but she likely wouldn't want to, instead collapsing where she landed. But something was bothering Celestia. Twilight wasn't simply studious, she was ravenous. She hadn't been exaggerating when she had said Twilight would teach herself teleportation.

Using Ākhiru-n-Nahr for scrying allowed one to circumvent basic teleportation's line of sight limitation, and there was one place close enough to scry but not visible from the school that a distressed Twilight would seek like a homing pigeon. Only she knew enough of Twilight's abilities to realize that, but she was stuck in this meeting, unable to so much as lift a hoof.

Celestia's growing irritation sought a target, ideally somepony droning on about tax margins, but found none. The Cabinet was silent.

"I would like to adjourn this council for the day."

It wasn't Celestia who had said that. Instead, it was the Secretary of Defense, whose gaze skimmed over Celestia as it swept the room. Usually, the Cabinet was happy to discuss policy until sunset. Surely the proposal would be rejected outright.

Across from her, Rainshadow nodded. "I agree with Secretary Wedge. We've accomplished much today."

Celestia peeked over at Sheaf's minutes. The last item was from two minutes ago, when she'd been asked to comment on Farasi's proposal for a trade agreement. Whoops.

The rest of the assembly nodded their agreement, all of them studiously ignoring Celestia. Nopony mentioned how distracted she surely looked. Each secretary just acted as if she had her own personal appointment she had to keep, independent of the others. Which left Celestia wondering: should she push back against this obvious acquiescence to her own distraction? Would that only assure them of the need for adjournment? She glanced again at the minutes, realizing it had been twenty minutes since Cadenza's interruption. Twenty minutes with no word. Twilight was still lost.

"Very well," she decided. "We have accomplished everything on the agenda and can table the items that have been brought up until our meeting in a half-moon. Thank you all for joining me this afternoon. Meeting adjourned." She stood, nodded once to Sheaf, and left the room, ignoring the murmuring that bubbled in her wake.

She didn't teleport, but the distance spanning her walk rippled and folded as if she had. Her progress didn't stop as she cast open the tower's doors with a flick of her horn. A quick glance around the interior turned up no lost filly. She peeked out from the balcony with Ākhiru-n-Nahr and could see the school clearly. But no filly. Perhaps she was wrong about Twilight teaching herself more advanced teleportation. Even then, there were plenty more places she could have teleported to, so—

She heard a sniffle.

Turning and hurrying across the room to its source, Celestia used her magic to lift a pile of books. In a hollow dug into the literature lay Twilight Sparkle, curled in on herself. Her body shook with sobs.

Celestia leaned over the filly, only for Twilight to raise her head, horn seeking out a star. Celestia's haunches tensed at her instinctive search for a star and the way her eyes were screwed tightly shut, but it was only a wish to al-Kawkab. Once she found the star and pulled on it, a broad and heavy tome was opened wide and yanked into the pit, covering her head. "Go 'way."

Not one to take orders from a foal, Celestia sat down next to the pile of books. "I only wanted to check on you, Twilight."

The book atop her twitched, but didn't move. With her own horn, Celestia lifted it, revealing her student. The fur on her cheeks was still damp, but the tears had stopped flowing. Still, she squirmed away from the light, burying her face in the books opposite. Her chest rose as she inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly, with only a few shakes in her diaphragm. "... I hate ponies, Princess."

Celestia took a step back at the force of the words. They were only a whisper, but in her mind they echoed, twisting and warping back over a millennium to the sound of another confession... One she should've treated more seriously.

That silence was enough to pull Twilight from her pit. She sat bolt upright and yelped, "Oh, not you of course, Princess! I could never hate you! Or mom, or dad, or Shiny, or Spike most of the time... I just..." Her ears drooped. "Why are ponies so mean?"

Celestia raised a wing, and Twilight hesitated only a moment before clambering out of the book pile and joining her at her side. "I wish there was a simple reason, my student," she said, pulling the filly close. "You once inquired whether I know everything or if, in my long life, I have run out of questions. Ponies are one of the subjects of which there always seems to be more to learn."

She looked out, over the balcony, at the spires and promenades of the castle. She knew the seemingly uncountable count of bricks in the brickwork before her, and it still was only a fraction of the number of ponies she'd known. "All I know is that all of us are full of potential for cruelty and love both. Were your classmates unkind to you?"

Twilight squirmed against her side. "The teacher was talking about patron stars and special talents, asking everyone to demonstrate theirs. She called on me, and... I said I didn't have one. A— And... Twinkleshine said I could do polymorphs, and then another filly said 'as long as you don't want to turn back', and then they all started laughing, but it wasn't funny! Miss Syzygy told everypony to calm down, but Lemon Hearts said I'd sic Spike on them, which I only did once, I promise, Princess, and they all started laughing again, and I—

"And I... came here," Twilight finished. She was utterly silent, as if waiting to have judgement rendered unto her.

"I am sorry, Twilight." Celestia swallowed her frustration at Syzygy, who had Twilight's lack of patron star on file and shouldn't have called on her to begin with. Marching down to the school and telling the students not to bully Twilight wouldn't help either. "They shouldn't have said that to you." She nearly winced at her own wooden words.

"But... But what if they're right? What if I lose control again? What if I turn mom into a plant and they can't change her back?" Twilight poked her head out from the plumage and looked up at Celestia, her eyes tearing up. "Wh— What if I'm just a danger to everypony, forever?"

"You aren't a danger to anypony, Twilight."

"But how can you know?" the filly quailed. From the student who thought her teacher knew everything, that cry was an admission of terror.

"Twilight, what star is that?" Celestia asked, lowering her horn to point at the center of two swirling eddies of ley. As a unicorn, Twilight didn't need the night sky for a quiz on stars — she could see the radiance of their ley clearly through the blue of the firmament.

Twilight, glory upon her, actually perked up a little at the prospect of a pop quiz. Wiping at one eye with a foreleg, she answered, "That's an-Nasl." She sniffed. "You already taught me it. How's knowing teleportation going to stop me? That just makes it worse..."

"I taught and you remembered, Twilight. Very good. Now, shall we try with the astralidade?" Twilight nodded, though the way her teeth worried at her lip and her eyes flicked to the side showed how she felt about the instrument. Celestia knew that it looked a little scary to a filly: the azimuth and altitude wheels caged in the small mount where head rested, and the various straps and buckles looked like something of a more primitive era. Twilight was obediently placing her head in that thicket now, her eyes blocked by a fitted pad to ensure focus on her horn.

Braces were snugged into place and mechanisms adjusted to compensate for her horn elevation and curve, figures Twilight's pediatrician had given (with a few quiet adjustments from centuries of experience). Then, Celestia began to adjust the altazimuth mount to the specifications she'd long since memorized, adjusted for the time of year: this particular astralidade had been a fixture of the castle in this very spot for centuries. Once she'd dialed it in so Twilight's horn was pointing directly at the star, she asked: "Now, what star is that?"

Twilight's neck muscles flexed as she instinctively tried to weave her head around, to feel the tautness of the connection between her and the distant star. Celestia suspected that the astralidade was actually more obstacle than aid for a prodigy, but it would be useful once they began covering the more obscure stars. Besides, half its utility was in stopping a student from looking up at the star at which she was meant to be pointing her horn. "That's..." Twilight murmured, "al-Kawkab. Definitely."

"Correct," Celestia replied, then dialed a new set of coordinates into the altazimuth. "And this?"

A faint glow surrounded Twilight's horn as she tentatively felt for the star. "ar-Risha," she said with certainty.

A warm feeling of pride blossomed in Celestia's chest as she followed the line of Twilight's horn to the Star of Retrieval, carefully unbraiding the sensation of her own connection to it from the many connections tied like loose thread around her own horn. "Excellent, Twilight." She felt a little guilty about this next part, but it was vital to hammer the lesson home. "Now... In my upcoming meeting with the Mendicant Nation of Griffonstone, should I ask that the shore of the northern crossing be ceded for revitalization efforts by ponykind? Or shall I let it lie for another two hundred years, for fear of wounding their pride by asking so recently after the violent events of the twelfth succession of the Althaus clan?"

Her student was silent for a moment, and she was sure her eyebrows would be furrowed in confusion if they weren't hidden by the astralidade's rest. "... What?"

"Is it best that the shore be ceded to us now? Yes or no."

"I... don't understand, Princess. I'm sorry." She squirmed against the restraints.

Celestia allowed a little of the ice she reserved for testy supplicants to creep into her voice. "Yes, or no?"

Twilight was bucking against the braces now, a faint sheen of lather against her neck. "I— I don't know! Yes!" she said in a panic, and Celestia's heart twinged at the desperation in her voice.

"There you have it," she said, unbuckling the restraints and freeing Twilight from the instrument that was likely a little bit more of a torture device in her mind than before. She pulled back instantly, falling to her haunches and shaking her mane out. "I apologize for the demonstration. You cannot answer a question you don't understand, Twilight. You know this. But when put under pressure, it is easier to answer than keep your silence." Celestia sat in front of Twilight. "When we first met, the stars had asked you a very difficult question, in a language you barely understood. You agreed out of fear, and they took you for a moment."

Twilight's eyes were hidden behind her short bangs, and Celestia would've recognized the look even if she hadn't seen it on the filly before. "Twilight," she said gently, lifting her chin with a hoof so she could look into her watering eyes. "It wasn't your fault. I know it must have been scary, but I won't let it happen to you again."

"... Do you promise?" Twilight asked in a wavering voice.

Celestia could count the promises she'd made in the last two centuries in one round. She didn't like them. They only brought a false sense of security, acting as a bandage to dress a bleeding-out of confidence. She never broke her last promise, but it hadn't made a difference. Yet, she told herself. It hadn't made a difference yet.

"I promise," Celestia asked, releasing Twilight's chin and earning a shaky smile. "Part of that is my protection, but the majority of it will be you, my student. What you lacked then was language. You didn't understand what the stars were asking you, so you felt pressured to agree. If you learn the stars' names, their coordinates, and their sensations, you can understand their requests, and accept or deny them." Celestia's eyes swept over the tower's bookshelves. "Have you heard of Starswirl's constellations?"

Twilight nodded, eager at a chance to answer a question. "Yeah! I even got to try number twelve in class, the one that makes you floaty." Her horn made a vague slash through the air, the instinctual motion of connecting two stars into a dyad.

Just then, a guard trotted in and bowed. "Princess Celestia!" he said, looking between her and Twilight. "Sheaf asked me to find you. Is everything alright?"

"Certainly. Would you fetch Princess Cadenza and her guard detachment for me? I've found Twilight. I'll be with Sheaf shortly — he's in the audience hall, I take it?"

"Yes, ma'am!" The guard saluted again, then left.

"Starswirl was much like you, Twilight," Celestia said. "He had no patron, but possessed an affinity for astrology. The stars would grab him by the horn and shake, and sometimes that wrought terrible destruction on himself and others." She saw Twilight's eyes go wide at that. "But it was also how he learned, put to paper, and refined all his constellations. Those same constellations became the building blocks for many conjugate wishes still in use today."

"He was... like me?" Twilight asked, her eyes wide not with terror but with wonder.

"In more ways than one. He had your same passion, so I'm sure you'll learn the language of the stars as well as he did. But there is another trick you can use in the meantime." Her sweet remembrance turned bitter in her mouth. "One he never grasped."

"What's that, Princess?" Twilight loved secrets, Celestia had noticed. Little gems of knowledge not known to anypony else. She hadn't yet discovered whether she intended to hoard them or share them.

"Restraint."

"... Restraint?" she asked, a twinge of disappointment in her voice.

"Often, when you don't know the answer to something immediately, it is best to wait. Restrain your urge to rush forward, and take a moment to consider the question and your knowledge. Build a proper answer that you can put your whole heart behind. Not all questions even need an answer, and certainly not always on the terms set by the asker."

"So... If someone asks me a yes or no question... I don't have to say either?"

"Not unless it suits you."

"That's good," Twilight said. "I don't like multi-choice questions. Filling in the circles is boring."

Celestia chuckled. "You are quite the essayist already. But developing this kind of restraint requires cultivating an inner peace. It's important to have a place you can go without distractions, to focus on yourself." She lay herself down, fores joining her hinds on the carpeted floor, so she could look at Twilight from her level. "Do you have somewhere like that?"

Twilight was silent for a moment. "Well, at home there's the neighbors, or dad playing his records, or Shiney doing drills with mom... There's a tree on the playground that I read under, but lunch is only twenty minutes..." Her gaze drifted upwards, following the winding shelves. "Princess, I like it when we study here. It's like it's just you and me and the books, and there's nothing else outside the tower besides the stars. Is that what inner peace is? When there's no outside?"

"That sounds exactly right, Twilight." They shared a smile, and then Celestia's eyes followed her student's upwards. Could this tower be the inner sanctum Twilight needed to form a confident core from which she could reach out to others? Or would it become a stronghold, isolating her further from those around her?

Questions, questions. Too many questions, lately. Futures for Twilight spread out in her mind like branches, not of bonsai but oak — no, apple, heavy with bright red fruits. But no tree could spare enough for every branch. "You know, Twilight, this tower doesn't see much use outside of our lessons... Traditionally, it is the residence of my student."

"Aww, your student is so lucky..." Twilight murmured, still gazing upwards. After a moment, her head whipped downward so she could stare at Celestia. "Wait! I'm your student! Does that mean—"

"It does, Twilight. Think of it as..." — she swallowed back 'a home away from home'. "Your own library. A place to learn and to think."

"Oh, Princess! I'll study every day!" She looked at the tower's bookshelves with new eyes — no longer a borrowed domain, but a space of her own. "Are all these books really for me? I don't know what to read first! Do you have any books on Starswirl? Wait, I mean— Do I have any books on Starswirl?"

Celestia's smile was as warm as sunlight. "I believe there are a few." Horn glowing, she summoned a small pile of tomes from around the library, placing them next to the filly in a stack three times her height.

Nevertheless, Twilight managed to leap atop it, staring down at the title of the top book with unrestrained curiosity. "Treatise on... Extra-pla-nar Phe-no-meh-na..." she read. Celestia grimaced: one of his later works. She floated the book, and Twilight with it, off the stack, then lifted the next one before her eyes.

"Perhaps this one will be of more interest to you," she said, holding up Patron Stars. "An examination of the most common patrons, and the stars that nopony has a natural talent for, showing the potential of one without a patron."

Her eyes sparkling, Twilight gently gripped the spine of her book in her mouth. Celestia noticed with concern that she appeared to be salivating. "Well, it's certainly been an eventful day, Twilight... But they'll be expecting you back home with Cadenza."

"Can I—" Thump. Narrowing her eyes, Twilight flicked her horn to ar-Risha to yank the book into the air, then caught it with al-Kawkab. Celestia blinked at the casual use of the Star of Retrieval, a star her student had only learned the name of a scant few days ago. "May I take this home?" Twilight asked, inclining her head toward the floating book.

"Of course, Twilight. It's your library, so feel free to take out whichever books you like. As long as you record them in the ledger, of course."

Another thump as Twilight stared into space, the words "it's your library" likely bouncing around in her mind as the book bounced off the floor. Then, she bounded over to the ledger in question, eager to take on the role of junior librarian. Celestia watched her with unguarded fondness as she floated over the quill and then attempted to use the stamp in her book, only to find it had dried with time. After a few increasingly forceful attempts, Celestia took the stamp from her and, with a quick wish, revitalized it. She returned it to Twilight, who made use of it with visible satisfaction. "All done!"

"Very good. Would you like me to accompany the two of you back home?"

Twilight worried at her lip, glancing out at the balcony. "... It's okay, Princess." She drew herself up into a regal pose. "I've already taken up enough of your time."

Celestia held in a giggle at her noblemare imitation. "The time was given freely, Twilight, but I suppose I should return to my own schedule and you to yours."

"Twilight!" Cadenza trotted in with an unabashed grin on her face. She wrapped the filly in a tight hug with both forelegs. "There you are. We were worried."

"Sorry I ran— um, teleported, Cadence... I didn't mean to get you in trouble." Twilight mumbled, clearly holding in a desire to do so again.

"Cadenza isn't in any trouble, Twilight. She did the right thing by telling me so we could find you as soon as possible." Celestia walked closer to stand over the two smaller ponies. "But please, if the other foals are hurting you, talk to an adult. Miss Syzygy was worried about you as well."

"Yes, Princess," Twilight mumbled through Cadenza's wings, which had joined her legs in the embrace.

Her niece was looking down, deep in thought. Finally, she looked up at Celestia and released her grip, revealing Twilight, who jumped to retrieve her book. "... Auntie, can Twilight and I have a sleepover?"

"Sleepover?.." Twilight asked, looking back.

"Yeah!" Cadenza said, beaming. Then, her smile faltered a little. "Y'know," — ('you know', Cadenza, enunciate) — "a sleepover?.. Junk food, staying up late, truth or dare?"

"I like staying up late..." Twilight said cautiously. "And truth..."

"Well it's settled then! Isn't it, Auntie?"

Seeing her adoptive niece take so well to her charge warmed Celestia's heart, even said charge was only partway to reciprocation. The young Princess truly embodied her aspect, throwing herself into everything she tried. "Of course, Cadenza. I'll send a guard to inform Twilight Velvet and retrieve whatever young Twilight needs from home. And remember, Twilight, good rest is key to understanding the parables, so don't stay up too late."

"We won't!" Cadence chimed, then turned to Twilight when the filly didn't fill in her half of the chorus. She was looking at her book, which was suspended in her raspberry glow. "Is something the matter, Twilight?.."

Her teeth worried at her lip. "I've... never slept outside my own house..." she mumbled.

"Oh!" Cadenza exclaimed. She ran over and pulled Twilight into her wing again, drawing a yelp from her. She was a very physical pony, even for a pegasus. "There's nothing to worry about. The castle's safe as safe can be! Auntie's here, after all, and all her guards. There are even wardens on rotation to help keep our rooms safe from wishes."

A little worry bubbled up in Celestia's mind, but... Mi Amore still hadn't been affected, and Sunset never had been either, despite both of them living in the castle. Foals, perhaps, were safe.

Cadenza went on: "I can get the chefs to make us pizza, and we can gossip, or play games, or stargaze, or whatever you want!"

Twilight glanced back down at her latest treasure. "Can I read my book?.."

Cadenza rolled her eyes fondly. "Of course you can read your book, Twilight. So long as you don't forget me again!"

"I won't," Twilight insisted with a blush.

"I'll come and check on the two of you when my duties are completed," Celestia said, ushering the both of them out of the tower. "And I'll send a guard for Twilight's things. Please ask the staff if there's anything you need." She glanced upward, mentally recalling her schedule for the evening. "And Twilight, please make yourself at home. If you need anything else, you may send for me."

"Bye, Auntie!" Cadence chirped, waving as Celestia continued down the hallway to her next appointment. Twilight just stared, too overwhelmed to say anything. She gave her one last smile over her shoulder before turning her attention to the mercilessly short, long-legged walk between her and her next meeting.

Night & Day

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Celestia awoke to a presence in her bedroom.

Even with sleep still sticking to her mind like sweaty bedsheets, she knew she wasn't alone. For a moment, she thought it was her former student, that she had escaped from the mirror, somehow, and returned — to enact revenge or beg forgiveness, Celestia didn't care. Just to have her home at all would be enough. "Sunset?" she mumbled, lifting her head off the pillow.

Then, her mind took the reins from her heart. This room was warded by a rotation of the finest astrologists in Equestria. The configuration maintained by the nation's most stalwart guarded against all manner of wish, teleportation being one of the most important among them. It was maintained every night so the nation's Princess (and, by extension, her concerned citizens) could rest easy.

It could be broken, but only by one whose attunement to the stars was absolute, with astral connections honed like knife edges. It could also be circumvented by a creature who held a connection to something stranger than the stars, though none she knew of could enter a locked room.

Fie. Centuries of peace and borders as strong as her word had made her dopey. She flicked her horn to al-Awaidh and yanked, weaving a shield together out of nothing even as her higher reasoning kicked in: if something had truly entered this room to hurt her, it would have done so by now.

So, she let go of her shield, she looked around, and she listened. The only sound was rapid and stuttering breaths. And the only thing out of place in the room was a purple filly with streaming eyes and a button-eyed doll hanging at her side.

"Princess Celestia, I— I had a n—nightmare..." Twilight Sparkle choked out through sobs.

No.

"Th— There was a big pony, l— like you, but she definitely wasn't a Princess... sh—she was all dark, and she... she!..."

Whatever force kept the filly nailed to the floor was redirected, catapulting her into Celestia just as she broke down in sobs. The lack of regalia didn't seem to bother Twilight as much as it did before, but the warmth of the little body against Celestia did nothing to melt the ice in her chest.

Nightmare Moon had found her.

A guard burst into the room with a shout. "Your Majesty!" Behind her, the night warden lay on the floor, unmoving. The guard cast her gaze across the room until it landed on the filly huddled to Celestia's chest, looking back at her. Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "Is... everything?.." she managed.

"Everything is fine, Chimney. Would you trot to the guard quarters and fetch somepony to take the warden to the infirmary, as well as a substitute? He should be fine, just a little overwhelmed."

"Of course, ma'am, but..." Chimney's eyes hadn't moved from Twilight, the crying filly who had apparently shredded an unbreakable ward like it was tissue paper.

"Is there a problem?" Celestia asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No ma'am!" The guard ducked in a quick bow, then closed the door, only stopping it from slamming in the last moment.

Celestia exhaled, then returned her attention to the shaking mass against her breast. She drew a protective foreleg around her, running a hoof through her mane. "It's alright, Twilight. You're okay. The Nightmare can't hurt you here." If Twilight heard the properness with which she pronounced the noun, she gave no indication.

While her student shaked and hiccuped, Celestia's mind worked. Was Cadenza a victim as well, now? Or was something else keeping the Nightmare away from her? And if foals weren't safe, what of Sunset? Cadenza wouldn't keep that kind of secret, but her last student... Had she been enduring these nightmares alone all along, being flayed for her secrets and weaknesses each night, having her self-esteem taken apart piece by piece?.. All without ever reaching out to her teacher?

Would Celestia's failures ever stop burying her?

She was pulled back to the present by a tiny voice. "P— Princess?" She looked down at Twilight. How unfair it was, to see her as 'not yet a failure of mine'. "... Did I d—do something wrong?" she asked, eyes glistening.

She shook her head. "No, Twilight. Chimney was only surprised."

That didn't seem to reassure her. The filly's breathing was still ragged with hiccups. Again, it struck her that Twilight Sparkle was among the youngest students she had ever had. Celestia just kept stroking her mane, feeling the rare but ever-present ache of inadequacy.

She could fix this here. She could push her away, tell her it's too dangerous to know her, send her back home to her parents... It was her fault. Her fault for taking on Twilight, her fault for inviting her to the castle, her fault for neglecting her dear sister. But... If she pushed Twilight away now, much worse things than nightmares awaited her and the rest of Equestria.

Perhaps they could weather it together.

"... Princess?"

"Yes, Twilight?"

"Do you get bad dreams too?"

In the back of her mind, hidden behind a curtain, lay stacked canvases thick with red brushwork. "At times, yes."

"... You can come sleep with me if it's scary."

Celestia laughed. "I don't think I'd be able to fit in your bed, Twilight. But I appreciate the offer."

"I'll get a bigger bed!"

"Perhaps when the royal stipend kicks in."

"The huh?.." Twilight mumbled, then yawned. Sleepiness was apparently an effective ward against the ravenous beast. Noted.

Celestia stood and, with a gesture, drew Twilight from her bed. "I'll accompany you back to Cadenza," she said, knowing that Twilight would gladly fall asleep in her bed instead. The filly nodded, her doll bobbing as it hung from her mouth, and they walked to the door. On her way, Twilight slung the doll across her back, nudging it with her muzzle to ensure it stayed in place.

The door swung open to reveal Chimney and Sprinkles, the replacement warden, at attention and as professional as if nothing had happened.

"I'll accompany you, Your Highness."

"Thank you, Chimney, but that won't be necessary. I am awake and alert, and I happen to have quite an accomplished astrologist with me," she said, winking at Twilight. The filly jolted to attention, resolutely meeting the guard's gaze, whose face was a battleground of amusement and bemusement.

As soon as they turned away from the guards, Twilight clung close to Celestia's right hindleg like the cutie mark above really was the sun, all bravery forgotten. What would surely be an endearing sight to any other pony only made Celestia wonder whether Twilight would shun the night as well, now that she knew what sleep could hold.

She turned to admire her borrowed night and halted.

In her world, where ponies held rightful reign over weather, season, towering tree and shining star, being surprised by something on a scale beyond equine was a forgotten relic from the time of Discord. For all the cruelty of her foalhood, the drought and flood and freezing cold, there was beauty, too, in being dwarfed by something great and indifferent, a beauty she often feared was lost in the lines between weather schedules. But not everything had fallen under the sovereignty of ponies.

"Twilight," she whispered. "Look."

Her student peeked from around her flank and saw as she saw: a ribbon of spined shadow framed in the space between trees, coiling across the sky somewhere over Rambling Rock Ridge. Moonlight caught the texture of scales as countless and shining as bits piled in the royal treasury. At that size, the dragon was bound to be nearly as old as Celestia. She — because surely a dragon of such majesty had an impressive hoard — drifted lazily, like a banner in a summer breeze, slowly making her way eastward.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Celestia the Princess was already thinking of how to nurse the fear of the few ponies awake in the night from here to Appleloosa who would quail at the thought of draconic presence, but the rest of her mind was as sparse and peaceful as the castle's night-stricken promenades.

"How will... How will I recognize him when he's that big?"

Celestia's ear flicked. "Hm?"

"Spike," Twilight clarified. "He's only a baby dragon now, but... Someday he'll be like that, won't he?"

Perhaps. And, perhaps, Twilight would be around to see. "He will still be Spike, Twilight, no matter how big he gets. Just like any other pony."

"... Will I still be me when I'm as tall as you?"

Celestia turned and smiled down at the filly whose wide eyes stared up at her from somewhere around her fetlocks. "Yes, Twilight. No matter what, you will always be you." Her smile turned to taxidermy as her thoughts turned inward. This peytral and her ceremonial dress were a millennium apart, but she could not tell the difference in how they tugged at her.

Celestia looked back up and the dragon was gone. The moon alone hung in that gap between trees. She felt sure, looking at it now, that its silhouette was Nightmare Moon's, and that it was somehow looking right at little Twilight Sparkle. She turned and continued down the promenade, gesturing with a sweep of her wing for her student to follow safely at her hooves.

But the filly was tired from her nightmare and its rude awakening, and when she moved to follow she stumbled. Celestia didn't let her fall this time. Blinking her eyes wide, Twilight wriggled free of the golden sway and landed hoof-first. "I can walk... myself..." she mumbled, yawning midway through. Already, her eyes were drooping again. "I can... teleport..."

"I think you've had enough teleporting for one night, don't you?" Celestia said, continuing at a slightly brisker pace. Twilight was forced into alertness to keep up.

They continued down the promenade until they reached Cadenza's apartment. Celestia nodded to the guard and warden, who both looked with puzzlement at Twilight, a filly they had thought themselves to be protecting. Remembering herself, the warden opened the door, allowing them through.

Inside was pink.

It had been a few tasteful accents in the beginning, a design choice by one of the many committees that seemed to spring up like mushrooms in fall. At Celestia's direction, they had sought to make an identity for the Princess who still wasn't sure who she was or what it was she was expected to do, and, after much deliberation, came to the conclusion that Celestia had a white coat and Cadenza had a pink coat.

Mi Amore, adrift, had latched onto the concept like barnacle to hull and amassed pink like hull to barnacle. Now, in Celestia's opinion, a glimpse of her room to the public would likely crumble all the committee had built. Even in the dark, it very nearly gave her a headache. But Cadenza treasured it, so she did as well, though through a squint.

One of the original pieces that still persisted was the alicorn-sized bed with its four posters and gauzy canopy. Mi Amore made the most of its ample real estate, sprawled out wildly with each limb in a different direction and her mane and tail spread everywhere. The only thing in tension about her was her face, where her brows were knitted together in an expression of consternation. Celestia froze; had the Nightmare moved on to its next target?

Celestia's worry melted with Cadenza's tensed expression as Twilight took a running leap onto the bed and landed beside her foalsitter, too small a mass to wake the Princess but enough for her to seek out the filly, her forelegs wrapping around and pulling close. Twilight herself seemed perfectly content with this, settling sleepily into her foalsitter's embrace. Curled up together, the two looked like sisters, swatches of pink and purple pulled from the same palette.

Twilight's eyes were shut, her entire self being pulled back down into the ocean of sleep. The blood was in the water, now, and the shark knew her scent. But still, even the Nightmare had limits: it could only plague one dream at a time, and its network of little schemes and influences was slung wide. Even when it turned to base cruelty, the castle was full of staff, and Celestia would still be its favored target.

Again, she thought of Sunset Shimmer and wondered whether she had hid all this. She couldn't let Twilight withdraw in the same way. Now, in her slumbering innocence, Celestia couldn't predict which way the filly would grow, nor how the Nightmare would attempt to stunt that growth. All she could do was plant her stanchions to help the filly find her way: generosity, laughter, honesty, kindness, loyalty, friendship.

Twilight's mussed fringe exposed a spot of ruffled fur, just below her horn, the horn that weaved such wonders so early. She leaned down, and...

Drew back.

"Sweet dreams, Twilight," she murmured.

"G'nigh', Princess..." The filly yawned. "Thank you... for..." she trailed off, breathing becoming slow and even.

The night insects carried on outside. Birds rested in the boughs, souls too fleeting for their dreams to reach all the way up to the threshold of the moon. Celestia stood in the room a while, ivory coat ghostly in the dark, her mane swimming in the shadow with unseemly cheer. She watched to be sure that neither of her charges stirred in their sleep. That their foreheads did not crease with concern. That their legs did not twitch under the sheets, running through a deep, dark forest. That they did not cry out in fear.

A whole nation relied on Celestia. She had been called the virginal mother, and though the moniker was incorrect on both counts, 'playing favorites' among her subjects still sat wrong, even if they represented Equestria's future. Sometimes she would compliment a chef's cooking or an astrologist's studies and be beset by a paranoid delusion of her old acolytes emerging from the wings and garbing the favored one in prelate's robes.

She remembered it so vividly. Covered in dust and mortar, the absence of ceremonial dress outlined in dried blood, she had torn the temple in Everfree apart. First with rage, then with shame, then with simple resignation. Always with her hooves. Worshippers gathered at the edges of the grove, the pull-push of reverence slowly being replaced with the push-pull of horror as their Goddess toiled and lathered like a little pony. "Leave this forest," she had said when she was satisfied, simple and without threat. The edict had held since, as resolute as the temple's ruin, still visible from the Sunrise Balcony.

She remembered that filly in the Whitetail Woods, the first to seek her out for wisdom, not worship. Visits had become councils held between the trees as that filly grew and brought others, and she had been drawn ever closer to Canterlot, until she found a castle waiting there for her. Had it not happened over ten generations, Celestia would've compared it to a predator drawing out its quarry.

She was a Princess, now, not a Goddess. So why did she still, after hundreds of years, dream of those forests? Why did she still cast such a shadow? Why had she forded the river and found the other bank to be just the same?

Eventually, she returned to her own chambers, and, after, her own nightmares.

Except they weren't really nightmares anymore. In the beginning, they were life-consuming. First in the Nightmare's toolkit was deception, and after half a century she could reliably tell dream from reality. Then came horror. Every possible iteration of her friends dying and her body rotting and her foes rallying and her nation burning and her firmament cracking and her world ending had lost meaning. Subtlety and narrative had been abandoned long ago. Celestia could not tell Twilight about her nightmares because there was no story to tell.

If she did tell her, it would go something like this: pain.

Every instant the Nightmare could spare in Celestia's sleeping hours was pain. Every nerve in her body sang in the dissonant choir conducted by that which Harmony had forsaken. She was a vessel, and the Nightmare filled her up with pain, then threw her against the wall and let her consciousness splatter on the floor. Then, it would gather her up, sculpt a new vessel with unfamiliar edges, and begin again. On bad mornings, it could take an hour to remember her body was meant for anything but hurting.

That was why Celestia loved breakfast. It was a simple matter of pleasure. Syrup-doused farina, waffles and pancakes, pastries and Prench toast, all of it grounded her in the world anew. If the tea was a little hot and burned her, she only laughed at the singe. Just as pain did not dull with centuries, neither did enjoyment. It was suffering to be alive. It was a joy to live.

Many fasts were broken in the morning at that table, the fasting from pleasure first among them, with the scent of freshly brewed tea brought in by the staff reminding her how good it was to be. And then, the fasting from love: Cadenza entered, followed by a sleepy Twilight, who yawned hugely. "Morning Auntie!" her niece chirped, filled with enthusiasm.

"Good morning, Mi Amore, Twilight. Did the two of you enjoy your sleepover?"

"Yeah! Twilight and I had a lot of fun, didn't we Twilight?" Cadenza said, turning to the younger pony.

"Cadence showed me her bug collection!" Twilight said, roused from her half-sleep. "Did you know there's a bug that looks like a stick but it's really a bug?" Twilight's head whipped to Cadenza. "You didn't lie, right? It was really a bug and not just a stick?"

"Ah, phasmids. Yes, Cadenza's collection is impressive, isn't it?" Celestia's gaze wandered to the fresco on the ceiling, as if recalling something. "I recall it also served as a fine lesson on personal responsibility, since most of the staff are terrified of it."

Cadenza rolled her eyes, which was fine in a private setting. "Scaredy-cats. At least Twilight gets it." She laid a wing over the filly, then pulled her in closer with it. "Even Auntie thinks they're icky," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. Twilight's eyebrows shot up.

"I think all the world's creatures are beautiful, in their own way, but, ah... some are an acquired taste."

"You've had like a billion years to acquire it!" Cadenza groaned. Their shared charge giggled.

With that, the two of them approached the table. Twilight recoiled slightly from the staff who appeared out of nowhere to place a cushion at her place, then sat on it as if it might have a snake hidden beneath. While she checked and double-checked her seating, a member of the staff wheeled in a cart full of even more breakfast. Twilight's eyes boggled at it, and she did a double-take to the contents of the table, surely comparing it to mealtimes at her own home.

Well, her own home lacked a pair of unbound alicorns, fully-grown and growing. Cadenza didn't hesitate to begin transferring items to the table with her horn, one-by-one, pink tongue stuck out slightly. When Twilight recovered from her shock, she helped, moving them in trios. With the spread on the table, Twilight opted for Prench toast smothered in syrup.

"So, Twilight," Celestia began, as fork and knife dismantled her own pancakes with a golden glow, "I would say you've gained a firm grasp on teleportation by now. How does it feel?"

Twilight's own cutlery paused, and she looked down at her breakfast thoughtfully. "It's... kind of just the same? I like knowing how, and it's useful, but... Mom said I didn't grow at all."

"Pardon?" Celestia said. What exactly had Twilight Velvet implied?

"She measured me, and I'm just as tall as the notch from my last birthday!" Oh. "That wish should've been worth at least a centimeter!"

Cadenza stifled a laugh (poorly). "Twilight, you know that you don't become more of an alicorn for every wish you learn, right?"

"Yeah I do!" Twilight said with the unstoppable confidence of youth.

"Nuh-uh!" Cadenza responded with the immoveable brattiness of teenagers.

"Yeah-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yeah-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

Princess Celestia didn't lose her patience, but she did have to look for it. "Cadenza, the mechanisms of alicornhood are very mysterious," she reminded. "Twilight, one should be careful not to chase one's means to their ends."

"Yes, Princess," the two of them chimed in chorus, then giggled likewise. Celestia rolled her eyes at them both, to Cadenza's delight, then returned to her meal.

She knew that the ensuing warm silence of ponies enjoying a meal together was only a prelude. The three of them were burdened with minds that were always working, each in their own way. It was just a matter of whose would go off first.

"Princess?"

"Yes, Twilight?" Celestia responded. For some reason, the filly just didn't seem to think of Cadenza as a Princess, despite having the prerequisite anatomy and some of the authority. Was it the height, or the duties, or the way she carried herself? At least the two of them could find some reprieve from fears of image with each other.

"I've been thinking again." Surprise, surprise. "About the river, I mean," Twilight clarified.

"Asterism's? I had thought you'd gotten over that. I saw you get over it, in fact, about twenty times," Celestia said, sipping her tea. The river in question had been Bronze Brook, one of the many tributaries flowing through the meadows around the back side of Canterlot. Twilight had taken up most of one of her lessons with a trek out to it, Celestia obligingly following in her wake. On reaching the river, she'd teleported back and forth across it until she was exhausted, just to prove that Asterism was 'uncurious'.

On the way back, the filly had complained about the walk, and Celestia hadn't been able to resist asking why she didn't just teleport back. The hastily-amended glare she'd received in return had been worth it.

"Uh-huh." Twilight poked her food with her fork. "I think I figured out why Asterism is wrong."

"Yes," Celestia said, "you've insisted that the two banks of the river aren't, in fact, identical." Cadenza looked pleasantly lost as she worked through her second plate.

"That's not it," Twilight said, and the intense way she looked at her remaining triangle of Prench toast drew Celestia's attention away from her hundredth mental reshuffling of Cadenza's lesson plan in search of a gap which would fit some astrology tutoring. "Even if the two sides were the same in every way... You're not."

The assertion struck Celestia like a clapper to a bell. She put her teacup down. "Pardon?"

"You said it's not a parable about teleportation. To get to the other side, Asterism would have had to wade through. She'd be soaked. Stuff like the grass being exactly as tall on either side doesn't matter when she's getting water all over it!" Twilight said, hooves planted on the table as her voice rose. "It doesn't matter whether the sides are the same, because you're not the same pony once you cross it. Even if they're the same to anypony else, you feel them differently!"

Celestia stared at Twilight, again filled with that feeling she'd had on their first meeting: somehow, this filly could see to her core, and somehow, she saw a pony like herself. Not a Goddess, not a Princess, not a wisdom in the wilderness. A pony. She swallowed a lump in her throat, then dabbed at her mouth with a napkin to pretend it had been food. "That's true, Twilight. The way we experience the world matters, especially when wishing."

Goddess, Princess. Even if the roles resembled each other, the actor who played them did not. Those titles weren't identically-structured but differently-gilded cages. They were steps on a journey, following each other. Celestia wasn't doomed to repeat her mistakes. Nopony was. Her sister could come home, and together—

"Princess?"

Celestia swallowed again. "Yes?"

Twilight glanced at Cadenza, who looked back at her innocently, then returned her attention to Celestia. "When are you going to teach me to shoot beams out of my horn?"

"... When you're older, Twilight."

Years

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The nightmares didn't stop, but Twilight didn't stop telling her about them.

"I was running through a big scary forest and she was chasing me and I tried so hard but her legs are so much longer than mine and I fell and—"

"She... She made me watch as she hurt you and, and... I heard your wings sn— sn— snap!.."

"She, um... I was giving a presentation in class and everypony laughed at me."

"I'll never learn healing. All I ever do is break stuff."

"I dreamed I was back and taking the test again and I failed. I couldn't do anything."

"I dreamed I was taking the exam again and... you weren't able to stop me."

As Twilight built her castle of shame, Celestia wondered with each brick: would it help at all to know that the one who whispered to her was an enemy, a deceiver, and not her own soul? Even on the nights when she was left alone (because the Nightmare hunted elsewhere or, Celestia hoped, because Luna was still there, up on the threshold of the fathomless heights, to hold its attention) the mortar cured.

"Y— You'd never hurt me, right, Princess Celestia? You'd never hurt anypony, right?"

Deceitful.

"The world tilted on its side, and I fell through the sun into the Forge—"

Cruel.

"She... held me down and sawed my... sawed my..."

Monstrous.

"I dreamed that all the stars fell. And it was my fault."

Nine hundred and eighty-seven.

"She gave me wings and threw me off a cliff. I didn't learn to fly in time."

"I was giving a presentation in class, but then it turned into a demonstrative dissection... with me as the subject. And everypony laughed at me because my guts were wrong."

Nine hundred and ninety.

"I was her, and you were there, and I... I... I don't want to talk about it."

"Shining, he... She kept breaking his shields until he..."

"She took Spike."

Nine hundred and ninety-three.

"... I dreamed that my tower burned down."

"The same dream again."

"Do I... have to tell you about it?"

"Princess, am I?.. No, never mind. It's nothing."

Nine hundred and ninety-four.

"I don't really want to talk about it, Princess."

"... How do I know that this isn't a dream?"

"Just tired, Princess."

Nine hundred and ninety-five.

"I don't care if the configuration fries my brain! Maybe then I'll finally get a good night's rest!"

"I... The castle was empty, and I couldn't find you anywhere."

Nine hundred and ninety-six.

"You don't appreciate anything I do! Why am I even here?!"

"You're alive, you're alive, you're alive—"

"... It doesn't matter, anyway. None of this..."

Nine hundred and ninety-seven.

"I'd never hurt you, Princess! I'd sooner die than—"

"... I'm fine, Princess. Let's keep going."

Nine hundred and ninety-eight.

"It was just a dream. It doesn't mean anything."

Nine hundred and ninety-nine.

"Um. Hi, Princess Celestia, I'm sorry I woke you, I—"

"Twilight?" She blinked sleepy eyes, blurring the shape before her with a filly from years ago. "Did you have a bad dream?" she asked on instinct, voice muzzy and lacking its usual resonance.

"Well, uh, yes, I... Yeah. It was just... I wanted to make sure you were alright." With her eyes adjusting, Celestia could see the blush on Twilight's face. "I mean, of course you're alright, it was just a dream..." She shuddered.

So much had changed. Twilight had grown taller as she learned her wishes, enough that that joke was worn out, and was now an accomplished astrologist and scholar. She was confident in her work, if not herself, and had slowly shored up all the weaknesses others bullied her for. But she hadn't built any gates into that defense. She remained as isolated as she had been as a filly. There were other things that hadn't changed from years ago, but Celestia decided not to comment on the ragged doll sitting at Twilight's hooves.

With a hoof, Twilight scooted Smarty Pants behind herself. "Just a dream. Sorry to wake you, Princess."

Celestia smiled, despite the weight on her heart. "It took time for them to become mundane for me, and I certainly wasn't a filly even when they began. There is no shame in it, Twilight." She turned away. "I only wish you didn't have to suffer this."

"They just... They seem so real lately. Even more than when I was a filly. That's silly, right? A grown mare and I'm still..." Celestia had felt the increased intensity herself, as of late, but thought it was just her own stress. Could the Nightmare know of its imminent release? "Of course, if... if there was a way to fix it, you would tell me, right, Princess?" There was no way to fix it. Not yet. And it wouldn't do to tell her, not so soon. Better to keep her and shield her just a little longer.

"I would, Twilight. Certainly, I would've done it myself if I could." Her gaze tracked over Twilight's head, out to the night sky. "Of course, there's always..."

"No," Twilight interrupted her. "I'm not going to leave just because of this. I'd take a life of turmoil under your tutelage over peace, every time." In the moonlight, Celestia could see the bags under her student's eyes. "I'm just... tired. But I'm not going to leave. I mean, I am going to leave, I'm not going to just spend the night standing in your bedroom, haha, let me just—"

"Twilight?" Celestia called, stopping her on her way to the door. She felt vertigo. The time she'd spent with Twilight was a shrinking cliff, and the future past the soon-coming point where she'd give her over to the unknowable plan of Harmony yawned wide. "Twilight, would you like to..." She felt mortified as soon as she'd got even half of it out. Would her student, a grown mare, like to walk with her in the night as they once did, talking of nightmares and dreams? As if her presence could ward fear anymore.

"... Take tea with me in the courtyard tomorrow morning?" she finished, reeling the sentiment back in. "If you have to come see me just to confirm I exist..." she trailed off.

Twilight smiled, and it wasn't the giddy grin of a filly, unfiltered emotion shining through from a pure core. It was an adult's smile, one formed around the awkward shapes of weariness and other feelings hidden under her tongue. Still, it was genuine. "I'd love to, Princess." Her hoof raised to push open the door, but paused. "Probably best to not bother the guards..." she muttered, then she stiffened. "I forgot about the warden, I hope—"

"He's fine, Twilight. The ward is still keyed to your signature. That's been part of the training ever since that first night."

"... You never took it out?" Twilight pouted. "I'm a grown mare, Princess."

Celestia smiled. "And I, a sentimental one. My door is always open to you, Twilight, even if you do not need it." She looked down, swallowing her gladness that Twilight still did at times.

Twilight turned back to look at her mentor again. "Thank you, Princess Celestia. And good night."

With that, she returned to her tower in a purple flash, leaving the room somehow emptier than it had been before she arrived. Celestia was left with her thoughts, something she'd been avoiding lately. She wasn't one to procrastinate, normally: when something needed to be done, she believed it best to do it. But now, she had to send Twilight to Ponyville — the sooner the better. Harmony could wait, of course, but above all, she needed strong bonds with the other Bearers.

Yet month after month, she put it off, and now they were scant days from the return. She couldn't stop thinking about it — would Twilight be able to find her friends and stop Nightmare Moon? If she did, would Luna be returned to her? She was growing tired of questions, of wondering what the other bank held.

The only thing left to do was to ford the river.

Author's Notes:

this one's been a long time coming - i've wanted to write about the roots of twilight and celestia's dynamic for a while, and found more and more bits of my personal worldbuilding to slip in.

a bit i'm proud of is the parables being part of a unicorn's studies. it's my way to make sense of how good twilight is at making friends despite being a shut-in - she's basically been studying buddhist koans about understanding other people's perspectives her whole life. most people depict learning magic as mathematical, but i wanted it to be allegorical instead so my astrologists would be empathic and understanding of others because of the studies they undertake.

haven't had a lot of time to write, but carved some out to pull these pieces together. hope you enjoyed!

p.s. i seriously considered writing 'hemidemisemimeter' instead of centimeter since ponies use base-four, but that worldbuilding would be too esoteric even for me.

Asterism's Parable of the River

by gloamish

Pleading & Request

Parable & Sleepover

Night & Day

Years